


DCU Tumblr Drabbles.

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the drables, meme fills and short stories that have been part of a tumblr event will be posted here, multiple Tim pairings, multiple scenarios. Some might turn into their own universe at some point but not all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. DickTim, Salvator Dahli AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the failed Three Sentence Meme that was never three sentences u__uU

Dick runs his tongue lazily over Tim’s side, the tip playing with the boy’s muscles and eliciting a soft giggle from his naked model. 

"You are going to eat the paint you just put on me, Master," Timothy whispers, his lips pulled into a lazy smile as he stretches on the soft cotton sheets, eyes bright as they lock with his employer’s.

"I would eat the paint and you whole," the older man whispers, his lips stained blue/green/yellow. "So you were a part of me forever." 


	2. oloane: DamiTim, Rome/Greek AU

**ROME:**

The whispers follow them wherever they go, clinging to their skin with the sickening darkness of their reputation. The young master and his attendant, so frail and small, petite and defenseless.

Defenseless, that it, if you ignore the grace of their limbs, the intelligent calcullations in their eyes, the forged muscles under the bronced skin as the master caresses his smaller slave’s arm. His Pet monster.

No one messes with Drake and his child assasin, no one is stupid enough.

——————————————- 

**GREEk:**

Damian watches, his eyes cold and dead, as his older brother dances and twists like a snake over the burning coals, the thin rivulets of incence caressing his naked skin as he receives the blessing he has been trained to receive his whole life. 

Finally, Timothy falls to his knees in the marble floor, his breathing ragged, his lips parched as he whispers: “The Miceni are dangerous and only grief awaits you in their land.”

Damian turns away when the general kneels to kiss Tim’s trembling feet, his devotion to their gods stilling his hands, his treacherous mouth, because he only wants to grab his pure older brother and drag him away from the ways of the oracle, to soil his body so the gods cannot use him any more.

Alone, he cries for the one that the divine have taken for their own and swears he will one day destroy the gods if only to free his brother, his sinful beloved, from their thrall. 


	3. ephemeraltea:  JayTim and history teachers.

Jason looks at his books intently, making his best to ignore the pretty little thing sitting in front of him and begging to be let into his class - he is not falling for anoter pretty face without the necessary credits, the last time the princess almost got him fired and he is so not fucking up to that again - to which he instantly replies that in order to get into Culture and History II you need to pass Culture and History I, Philosophy I, and Communication I, as he has said for over half an hour. 

"You will need the preparation," he says, his smile sly. "I need you to know really specific things in order to be ready, like Pope Alexander VI’s real name…" 

He is being cruel and he knows it, which is why he is not expecting it when the boy whispers a soft: “Roderigo.” 

He looks up at the boy and can’t help but feel his interest peaked when that pretty thing smiles at him in defiance, his eyes full of challenge. 

He smirks back.


	4. ephemeraltea:  DamiTim and doctors AU

"Everything seems to be in orders now," Doctor Drake whispers, pushing his glasses up his nose with a careless hand as he reads over Damian’s chart, tongue peeking shyly to wet his bottom lip. 

Father doesn’t understand the fascination Damian has with the young Doctor - an unnecessary risk, he calls it, he could be treated at home, at the cave, by Leslie - but Robin is adamant of soliciting the teen’s services because  _no one_ has ever made Damian feel so normal, so mundane and significant at the same time. And he loves it. 

"Try not to walk with that leg for a week and then come to see me for a check up as soon as the swelling goes down, okay?" the doctor says, smiling his usual small smile.

Damian nods silently, his eyes trying to memorize every feature, every pore of the young man’s face, commiting them to memory. 

"Oh, and Mister Wayne?" the doctor calls before Damian can touch the doorknob. "Try not to have any more  _'Camping Accidents'_ if you please? It is worrysome to watch the news and know you will be coming to bleed all over my office.” 

And before Damian can protest, promise or interrogate - swear his eternal devotion, ask for Dr. Drake’s hand in marriage, he is not sure - the young man is pushing a cherry flavored lolipop into his mouth and ushering him out of the office with a quick salute to Pennyworth who is waiting for him outside. 


	5. Vare: DamiTim Popcicle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> varevare said:
> 
> Damian trying to get Tim to eat an icecream/popsicle because he looks good licking things

"So glad you don’t want this, Drake," Damian sneers, his eyes narrowed. "Because this is too delicious, too sinfully good for the likes of you!" 

Tim rolls his eyes at the younger boy, noticing at once the way his shoulders are tense and how he sullenly stares at his icecream, as if personally betrayed by the treat and then again, reverse psychology was never his younger brother’s forte. 

He leans over with a graceful shrug, his left hand holding Damain’s while the right one keeps his hair away from his face as he wraps his lips around Damian’s desert, tongue playfully licking the cream and throat letting out obsene sounds of pleasure as he tastes the ice, eyes fixed on Damian’s shocked, flushed face. 

"You were right, it’s really good," he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip to catpure the white drop of cream that threatened to run down his chin. 

He leaves his younger brother gasping for air behind him, - his body tense, his cheeks flushed and his legs crossing and uncrossing uncomfortably - smirking the whole way to his bedroom as he knows Damian will want some privacy. 

Foolish child should really come up and say it, Tim would have no problem sucking him off if he just  _asked._


	6. supernova:  DamiTim and Oliver Twist

"Your mother thinks I’m teaching you literature," Tim moans as his student thrusts their hips together, his breath hot against his neck. 

"Mother should have known better than to hire someone as tempting as you as my tutor," Damian argues, lips sucking and marking the ivory skin under him. "Plus, I am learning a little."

"Oh?" the older teen asks, his eyes half-lidded as he arches his neck in pleasure, fingers twisting against the expensive cotton sheets on the bed. "Show me?"

"Please, sir," Damian hisses playfully, teeth sinking onto his tutor’s earlobe, his tongue eager. "May I have some more?" 


	7. varevare: human sacrifice damitim

The human they brought him this time is a sweet little thing that reeks of innocence and loss with a pungent ambrosia he has yet to taste in any of the previous one’s skin. He huddles against a corner, freezing, hungry and mostly numb to his surroundings, his long eyelashes still wet by his tears.

Such a delicious morsel.

“Did your sire keep you pure for this sacrifice?” he asks, his viperine tongue caressing his fangs as he hisses. Many humans have done that over the centuries, keep one of their children pure and unblemished for the sacrifice.

The boy shakes his head.

“They wanted to protect me,” he whispers, his voice a soft, hoarse whisper. “The priests killed them, burned them. White as a Ghost they came for the slaughter, laughing at their agony.”

Moon-colored eyes lock on his own blue ones.

“Please devour me now,” the child pleads, his body slumping in defeat. “I want to be reunited with them.”

He considers the offer for a second or two, awed that such fierceness can come from such a broken little thing, from someone so untouched.

Then again, maybe this is what marks this boy as different. His pureness is not conventional. He has not been kept pure as a ritual.

No.

The boy’s purity comes from his own cold resignation.

He grins, sharp fangs glinting in the firelight.

“I’m afraid I won’t be eating you any time soon, child, you fascinate me,” he hisses, his satisfaction even greater when he sees the boy’s frozen eyes start to thaw with curiosity. “In return for your continued stay in the realm of the living, I shall offer you a fitting reward.”

“What’s the catch?” the boy asks, his lips barely moving.

Oh, clever little offering.

“You will be a part of me, child, my property until I deem you ready to depart,” he replies with honesty, enjoying their little banter. “You will give me a name and mark me as a part of you, and thus you will never leave.”

The boy’s teeth sink on his bottom lip.

“And my reward would be?” he whispers.

“Revenge.”

Behind him the fire crackles twice before he feels the small hands grasp his own trustingly, those ice-cold eyes glinting at him with renewed purpose as those lips immediately whisper in his pointed ear.

“I am yours then, Damian.”


	8. varevare: dicktim demon posession

He is so beautiful, even to this day.

The way he laughs as he strokes the dog’s fur with slender fingers and how his musical laughter echoes in the almost empty hallways.

He should have known he was falling in love with Tim years ago.

That he had been falling in love with this indomitable teenager the first time their eyes met.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

He is his.

“Dick!” Tim calls with a small giggle, one he hasn’t heard in over three years and treasures in his memory for all time. “Your puppy won’t stop licking me!”

He smiles and walks towards this little miracle of his, his steps measured, confident.

“Aw, Timmy!” he mocks, kneeling by his brother. “The puppy is yours! You know that!”

Tim laughs a little, cradling the animal in his arms with tenderness no one would have thought him capable before and Dick feels the urge to kiss him.

An urge he doesn’t contain, not anymore.

From behind sky-blue eyes Ra’s Al Ghul uses foreign lips to pull moans from his beloved, triumphant in the knowledge he has finally won.


	9. corvineheart:  damitim! young god being fascinated with a mortal

There is very little respect in those eyes and that is not normal.

He appeared riding his golden chariot and leaving flaming trails in his wake. All animals ran from his presence, all flora died at his proximity and yet that mortal only glared at him from his kneeling position on the ground and hissed a soft: “I needed those herbs.”

He had scowled, chest puffing and his aura flaring.

The mortal had sighed, ignoring his rightful indignation to go and gather some more water for his dying flowers. Muttering about insensitive immortals that were spreading their gifts where they were nor wanted and how was he supposed to pray for a new crop so close to the winter anyways?

Damian’s eyes widened.

“Do you even know who I am?” he asked, his voice the one that had made countless souls cry in anguish.

The mortal raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Do you know who  _I_ am?” he asked back, huffing when the god shook his head. “Then we are even, now if you could please stop spreading death all over? I really need these flowers if I want to finish my ointments before winter.”

He didn’t think about it for another moment, he grabbed the mortal’s arm and was dragging him towards the open cave that led to his realm, whispering assurances that the flowers the man needed also grew down in his kingdom, in his garden.


	10. oloane: DamiTim, Pokemon AU

Damian sneered as his opponent faced his powerful pokemon, his Goodra, with a lowly Eeve.

No wonder Todd had told him the Drake Gym Leader was a pussy.

Then again his father and Grayson had told him to be careful.

“You come here with a dragon type,” the leader said, an eyebrow raised. “Asking for a duel while your father sent you to be trained by me.”

Damian scoffed.

“I don’t need any training from the likes of  _you_ ,” he growled, his hand tight around his pokeball. “I could beat you, your whole team and those two buffoons behind you with my eyes closed.”

The Leader smirked.

“Oh really?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Conner, Bart, care to take on the little snot with me? See if he can put his money where his mouth is?”

The two aforementioned buffoons grin, walking to stand side by side with their leader, eyes glinting eagerly.

“New rules then, you can use your whole team at once and we will only use three pokemon each, just to make it fair,” the Leader says, handing three pokeballs to each of his companions. “Also, if we win, you will shut the hell up and be a good student like your father wanted you to be.”

Damian’s grin is mocking.

“Deal.”

His team is out before his opponents can even think of a proper strategy, his face hides how eagerly he is awaiting their shocked realization that with Reshiram at his side, he has the upper hand.

The giant called Conner raises an eyebrow and the idiot called Bart blinks for a moment. The Drake Leader fakes a mock-yawn before all three are throwing their pokemon into the field.

Damian knows he has the upper hand, two dragon-type – one being a legendary one – can beat any sort of formation these fools throw at him.

But then again, all nine evolutions of Eevee are staring at him and his team with fierce determination, each walking to position without the need of an order or gesture. They all, individually, know which of his own pokemon will be weaker against which one of them.

He gulps and anticipates his defeat, completely ignoring the way his pulse races when his eyes meet Drake’s. 

 


	11. Oloane: DamiTim Dandy/victorian AU

They first met gazes at the candle lit bar in the middle of Paris, and he found himself sneering in content at the sight of his impeccable clothes, perfectly styled hair and doll-like long eyelashes. Because, before him, there is no man.

That is a product of vanity and irresponsibility.

He dabs his nose with his handkerchief, internally cursing Cassandra because she is his contact and should have arrived by now – she is seldom late. And suddenly the man is sitting by his side, offering him a glass of some liqueur and sharing some story or other with him, his hands grasping Damian’s own confidently as he talks away.

Damian is about to snap his hands away and engage the sorry excuse for a gentleman in a duel when he feels the man’s fingers tracing patterns on the palms of his hands, hidden from view.

**YOU WERE FOLLOWED, COME WITH ME**

His brows furrow in confusion, his lips curling to reply when the fingers press again, nails digging into his skin.

**CASS SENT ME**

Damian nods, sighing as he forces himself to smile as well.

“Your life sounds so interesting, kind sir,” he says, doing his best to show the eagerness people commonly associate with his age in his face. “I would love to hear more of your stories.”

The other man smiles.

“Timothy, please,” he admonishes. “Maybe you can come with me to my room? I brought these amazing artifacts from Egypt you won’t believe until you see!”

Damian nods and stands to follow even when he finally recognizes the doll-man before him.

Timothy Drake, son of the Archeologist Sir Jack Drake, who has become rather famous after his father’s unfortunate passing in the Americas.

And, apparently, is another of his Father’s operatives.

He admits, if only to himself, that the cover is clever and that the man’s hand is warm and inviting in his despite his detached appearance.

Together they go upstairs. 


End file.
